


A Better Offer

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Classic Christmas Sit-coms, Classic Christmas films, F/M, Robin stops by and ends up spending time with Strike, Strike is ridiculously cuddly in pyjamas, The Inevitable, Written at Christmas, additional swinging!, but I didn't finish it, crumpled pyjamas, getting far too comfy, it is all so perfect, make me a deal Ellacott, so i have now!, socks as presents, tubs of chocolates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22635991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: I started this over Christmas - I had just watched a documentary about The Great Escape famous motorcycle jump scene, hence my/Strike's factual knowledge!I intended this to be one of those fics where they just enjoy being together, but I couldn't work out an ending....so inevitably it became more of a 'I like you' type thing.I finished it today - in the middle of a howling gale in the UK - and although it isn't Christmas (obviously) I am going to post it because a) I've already forgotten about it once, b) it feels cold enough to snuggle in pjs all day with Strike and c) because I haven't posted on the fandom in a while and the plethora of other fics is making me feel inadequate.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 44
Kudos: 59





	1. Strike's day so far

**Author's Note:**

> Celebrations are a popular plastic tub of chocolates which are available in boxes all year, but in tubs at Xmas - they contain mini, bite-size versions of Twix, maltesers, Galaxy, Snickers, Milky Way, Mars, Bounty and Galaxy Caramel.
> 
> The Good Life Christmas episode where 'Christmas has not been delivered to the Leadbetters' is one of my all time favourites!

Strike had got himself settled and organised having returned from Lucy’s that morning – two days with his half sister and her exuberant family was as much as his weary, world beaten personality could take.  
His flat had been icy upon entering it, but the benefit of it being the size of a postage stamp meant it had warmed up nicely with the addition of the small blow heater which he’d remembered was under Robin’s desk in the office.  
He’d had a hot shower, removed his leg and thrown on the pair of checked, flannel pyjama bottoms and navy blue sweatshirt top which had been a gift from his nephews.  
His foot was adorned in a thick, cable knit Aran style sock courtesy of Aunt Joan’s amazing knitting needles, and he’d dragged the new gorgeous grey marl half zip in the same style as his favourite maroon one over the top.  
In his imagination he could smell a hint of Robin’s perfume on it, which would make sense as she’d bought it for him.

His thoughts went to her, as they so often did – she’d be on her way back from Masham probably. 

They’d been messaging each other almost continually throughout the past couple of days – keeping each other sane he’d told himself – they’d shared greetings on Christmas morning, sent pictures of their dinners, mass table selfies with grinning faces, Robin had sent him a photo of herself wearing the beautiful pendant he had bought for her (it had a tiny, silver magnifying glass together with a small, ruby gemstone and a rose gold miniature lightbulb charm; the trio hanging together in a cluster) and she’d actually rung him to say a proper thank you later on Christmas day.  
It had been a nice moment of calm enjoyment in the middle of the manic day with Lucy, Greg and his nephews.

Robin had told him she was really touched by his gift, he’d explained that he’d seen it when he was helping Nick pick out an anniversary gift for Ilsa not long after she’d managed to tie up a case they’d been working on for a while, which she’d suddenly come up with a new and it turned out accurate theory he’d missed.

They’d ended up talking about the case for a while, but he’d told her how pleased he was with his sweater choice from her, she’d giggled when Jack had clearly leapt on him and shouted Happy Christmas down the phone for her benefit.

He’d reluctantly ended the call when it was clear her parents wanted her to join a game of Trivial Pursuits and he couldn’t put off being sociable with Greg any longer.  
He considered messaging her now, but she’d be driving, and the Land Rover definitely didn’t offer Bluetooth!

His plans for the rest of the day involved one of his Christmas traditions; slobbing out watching The Great Escape with beer, a mountain of chocolate and the Shepherd’s Pie Ilsa had made for him and left in his freezer (on previous years he’d eaten it and spent the traditional slobbing day accompanied by Nick, but on this occasion they had gone away for the festive period, seeking out the bone warming heat of Mexico rather than freezing their nads off in London.)

Cormoran enjoyed his own company, and no longer felt the need to drink himself into oblivion to pass the hours before a troubled sleep.  
He’d unwrapped and read the note attached which stated he could bung the dish in the oven and it would take about an hour on a low heat to warm completely through before he could turn up the heat and create the crusty top he enjoyed so much….he might even add a bit of that cheese he had had thrust upon him by Lucy on his departure!


	2. Robin's day so far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out how Robin comes to be at the offices in Denmark Street whilst Cormoran begins his slobbing day.

Robin had enjoyed seeing her family, but by the end of Boxing Day she’d almost had her fill.   
The phone calls and messages between her and Strike had been welcome little diversions, and she’d found herself missing his company more than she thought she would….and she’d thought that she would!

Things had been really great between them and for the business recently.  
They’d had a series of successful cases, one of which had been a right bugger, but she’d managed to come up with a new angle on it which had seen it solved.   
She and Corm had a good working relationship, and they were mates!

They had a laugh together, it was as though the cautious, tightly wound spring between them had somehow unravelled on that motorway embankment, and they now had a pleasing mutual enjoyment of each other’s qualities, good and bad.

They liked each other exactly the way they were.

They knew so many ridiculous things about each other now; following hours and hours of tedious surveillance spent cooped up in the Land Rover, or his BMW.

He knew her menstrual cycle, she knew his lavatory habits (30 minutes after his first coffee of the day and again mid afternoon!)   
He knew that she would only eat tuna sandwiches on wholemeal bread, she knew that he’d eat anything except rice pudding and raw mushrooms. And they both knew that they’d take Ready Salted as a second choice back up if their preferred crisp choice was unavailable.

Anyway, after a brief discussion with her mother about their plans for the day after Boxing Day she’d made her excuses and decided to leave early. Having set off at stupid o’clock she was back in London, parking outside the building of her tiny rented flat at a little before lunchtime. 

Corm was at Lucy’s, but she’d missed his smell, and she’d missed work!   
Her little computer screen, her collection of notepads and diaries and the various files in their immaculately labelled filing cabinets.  
She told herself that with no other plans she would just pop into the office and check emails, and she’d pick up the trio of bottles of white wine which had been her Secret Santa gift – one from each of the chaps according to Barclay who’d been responsible she later discovered.

The weather was a wintery washout; the kind of grey insistent rain that rendered the London skyline a delight for melancholy artists, but a nightmare for pedestrians.  
She had showered and changed into jeans and a slouchy plum coloured sweater in a gorgeously soft merino knit (a present from Ilsa and Nick) and would have managed the whole journey to the office unscathed were it not for the white van driver who had apparently taken delight in drenching her at the end of Denmark Street.

Swearing and squelching her way up to the office her face had broken into a smile despite everything upon seeing the familiar gold lettering across the office window : C.B. Strike & R.V Ellacott Private Detective Agency.

She was a true partner in their business…..they’d even got bonuses this year….and they had a waiting list of clients on the books.  
It was something which made her justifiably proud.

Once through the door she peeled off her jacket and draped it, still dripping across the back of her desk chair. She went across to the farty sofa (which she’d suggested they replace rather than take bonuses, but was vetoed by Cormoran as he correctly pointed out that other then emitting rather imprudent noises there was actually nothing wrong with it!) and sat down in order to drag the soaked boots from her feet.   
She saw that her socks were soaked through too and peeled them off with a series of ‘bleurgh’ sounds, managing to drown out the sound of the door to Strike’s flat opening.

“Hello? We’re not actually open today,” came the familiar, and comforting deep rumble from the floor above.

Robin’s eyes had widened upon hearing him, but she winced at the coldness of the linoleum floor meeting her bare, already icy toes.  
“I know!” she shouted, grinning as she popped her head out of the doorway and peered up at his remarkably cuddly appearance.

“Robin? What’re you doing here? I thought you were only back tomorrow?” he stated, noticing that despite her slightly dishevelled appearance her radiant hair and pink cheeks looked more gloriously attractive than the chiselled bone structure of the finest supermodels.

“I stuck it as long as I could, but the prospect of Stephen and Jenny’s for another roast dinner and endless questions about the cost of rent down here finished me off….drove back this morning,” she explained.

For the first time he noticed her bare feet, mainly because they looked so small, and her toes tipped with crimson looked quite frankly edible.  
“Where are your shoes?” he asked, hopping a little to change his position, and Robin assumed he’d removed his leg and was therefore stuck on his landing.

She moved out and up a couple of the stair treads before explaining, “Got soaked at the end of the street….I’ll let them dry off a bit. I only planned to check the emails….I thought you were still at Lucy’s.”

He shrugged and grimaced, “Well…..similar to you….I did the Uncle thing and the big brother thing….and I tried with Greg…..” he trailed off but met Robin’s amused expression with a smirk of his own….he knew she could figure out the rest!

“So…..you look as if you’re comfy for the day. I assume you weren’t going to be as industrious as me!” she quipped.

He chuckled back at her, “Nah…..still on Christmas mode, and I have a tradition to attend to!” he waggled his brows and lips leading her to assume it wasn’t anything connected to his mother.

“A tradition involving wearing your pjs in the afternoon?” she asked, glancing again at his outfit choice, “Although the sweater is a nice addition….I reckon someone with fabulous taste must have bought you that!” she grinned.

He nodded and stroked one hand across the knitted fabric at his stomach, “Hmmmm, could be….they certainly know my size,” he grinned and again glanced at her bare feet.  
He opened and closed his mouth, making the noise she knew was his, ‘I need to say something but I’m not sure I should,’ sound.   
She waited.

“Look…..why don’t you ignore the emails and join me….it is actually traditional that it involves other people – usually Nick, and Ilsa joins in too,” he added as he saw her happy half smile.

She gave him a narrow eyed stare, “Can I check what I’m signing up for before I say yes? If it’s a back to back Arsenal season rewatch I’m out!” she stated jokily.

He gave a grunt as he hopped back into his flat slightly, shouting down to her as he did, “Nothing of the sort…..the classic, Great Escape with beer and shepherd’s pie, courtesy of Ilsa….are you in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well, of course she's in!!!!!


	3. Perfect.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin joins Cormoran in the cuddly pyjama stakes.  
> They spend the afternoon snug on his bed....and Cormoran turns into a cuddly professor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lula....your favourite line is in this chapter!!!

Robin was already padding up the final stairs to his flat and laughed as she saw the ‘nest’ he had created with all of his bed pillows positioned at the opposite end of the bed to how he actually slept (she knew from numerous missed alarm call wake ups!) and his flat screen TV twisted around to face it.   
She could hear the feint rattle from his oven and guessed one of Ilsa’s special shepherd’s pies was inside heating through.

“This looks way more tempting than emails,” she stated, noting how he looked down at her bare feet.

“Well, if you’re staying you might as well open these….courtesy of Aunt Joan and…that one is from Jack apparently! Although it looks a very similar shape to mine off Lucy!” he grinned handing over a couple of neatly wrapped if slightly crumpled packages which he’d brought back in his kit bag from Bromley.

Robin beamed and tore open the paper on the smaller package to reveal a pair of cream coloured socks knitted with an intricate cable design and looking remarkably similar to the lone one being sported by Strike.  
“Oh my God, these are gorgeous!” she squealed and pulled the soft wool over her toes, automatically sitting on his bed to do so, which to Strike’s amusement and slight concern did not cause his equilibrium to wobble from normality at all.

She started on the second parcel and ‘awwww’d’ at the hand written tag from Jack.

“Yeah….think he might have a tiny crush on you. He kept wanting to look on my phone at pictures of you….not, er, not that I’ve got that many….you know, just ones from daft selfies and the Christmas ones,” he hastily added, “You want a beer?”

Robin could see a tinge of pink to the skin visible above his beard and rolled her eyes slightly, “Well, I’m delighted, if slightly weirded out, by being the object of his first adolescent crush!”

“He’s so tall now; shot up!” Strike added and gave a smug nod as she extracted a very similar pair of female pyjamas from her parcel.  
The bottoms were the same checked flannel as his own with the top part being a slightly more feminine shape with a tiny row of pompoms around the rounded neckline.  
Robin glanced down at her still sodden jeans and back to the pyjamas.  
Much as Strike would have loved her to remain wearing the absolutely gorgeous plum sweater she was filling out nicely, the thought that she might want to cosy down in the new pyjamas was also a ridiculously sexy concept.  
He saw her almost shake her head and mutter a ‘nah’ sound before fingering the soft fabric again and pouting slightly.

“If you’re staying, pyjamas are mandatory!” he grinned, pleased at the delighted expression his comment created across her face.

“Really? Well, then who am I to fly in the face of tradition! I’ll pop down to the office and get changed….no, don’t worry, I’ve got wine there too from Barclay!” and she grasped the neatly folded bundle and trotted off.

“Lock it when you come back up,” he shouted down after her as he took the opportunity to flush the toilet and put down the seat in his little bathroom.   
He also, and he had no idea why, brushed his teeth!   
As he placed the toothbrush back in the mug he saw himself in the mirror and puffed out his lips, “Pathetic fucker!” he mumbled and made his way back through to the main part of his small flat just as Robin was making her way back up the stairs.

She looked perfectly informal, and comfortable, and relaxed, and just….right.

She’d clearly left her bra on…either that or her tits really were amazingly pert and as perfect as he had imagined!....but the flannel and grey marl pyjamas and cream socks together with her tousled amber hair and twinkling blue-grey eyes made him have to catch his breath slightly, and he began to wonder about the practicality of him only wearing pyjama trousers in her company!

He’d get under the duvet….that’d give him camouflage!

She detoured to his fridge and bunged one of the bottles of wine inside before waggling another and holding her hands in the universal language of ‘where’s the corkscrew?’  
“I’ll get that he offered,” taking the bottle and focussing rather intently on removing the cork before pouring a generous glassful into the wine glass he’d snaffled from the Tottenham in one of his cavernous coat pockets.  
Her face lit up at the sight of the vessel; she was used to drinking from a half pint tumbler when they shared takeout.

“Wow! The catering facilities are looking up!” she grinned as he arched a single eyebrow in that ‘I could play James Bond if I wanted to’ manner he had.

“Shut up and drink it, Ellacott….I’m on my second so you need to catch up!” he chuckled as he popped the lid on a second Doom Bar bottle.

Robin glugged down a hefty slurp of wine in order to take the edge off the amazing sight of him deftly removing the cork and the realisation that they would both be sat on his bed to watch the film.

“So….The Great Escape….what do I need to know?” she asked, casually picking up the DVD box and glancing appreciatively at the sight of Steve McQueen straddling a motorbike.  
Strike regarded her as though she had an extra head, “You’ve never seen it?” he asked incredulously.

She shook her head, “Well, I’ve likely seen bits of it….but I was probably making butties and tea when it was on at home!”

“But it’s on TV about 4 times a year! How can you not have seen it?” he asked as he bent to insert the disc into the machine, his partial limb kicking out behind him as he balanced on his full leg.

“I just haven’t! Anyway….I’m watching it now aren’t I?” and she threw caution to the wind, shuffling across his bed and plumping up the pillows further behind her head.

Having started the disc playing he turned and couldn’t prevent the smile appearing on his face at the sight of her wriggling, huffing and making herself comfortable on his bed.  
“Right…..we have the film, we have drinks and the other part is….” and he dragged a large plastic box of Celebrations out from under the bed. “Shepherd’s pie will be another hour at least….so I’m counting these as starters!” and he ripped off the circular lid locating a mini Twix for himself and tossing a Teaser at Robin’s tightly lipped ‘Ooooohhh’ face.  
He used the time she took to open and devour the chocolate to plonk himself down onto the bed beside her.   
He slipped himself under the duvet, allowing it to cover his leg, but with his foot still sticking out so as not to overheat.

Robin liked the fact that his sock covered foot looked like her own.   
Something about the fact that Aunt Joan had used the same wool for both of their Christmas gifts was……well, it was a bit sexy in a weird kinky ‘take a good hard look at yourself later’ kind of way!

He noticed her gaze and sniggered, “In case you’re wondering she did actually make me a pair!”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking!” she giggled, popping a Galaxy chunk into her mouth and sucking on it to melt the chocolate slightly. “I was just thinking that she probably used as much wool on my two as she did on one of yours!”

He wriggled his toes and considered her comment….he was well used to the comparison about the size of a man’s feet being linked to….well……  
He cleared his throat and rummaged in the chocolate tub, adjusting his buttocks on the bed and inhaling sharply as his hand clashed with Robin’s as she sought out a Milky Way.

“Sorry,” she mumbled through a mouthful of partially consumed chocolate as the opening credits to the film began. “Oh….is this real then? I mean it actually happened?”

Again Strike cast her a withering look, “Yes! It is based on a real escape attempt….and the characters are based roughly on real people…..although the fact that their escape plans were shoved up their backsides in cigar tubes didn’t make the final edit!” he flashed her a mischievous grin and popped a chocolate into his mouth and bit down savagely on it!

“O-Kaaaay!” she murmured and wriggled back into the pillows as the various actors started their initial survey of their new surroundings.

Cormoran topped up their drinks a couple of times as the film progressed and answered the questions Robin asked regarding whether the American troops would actually have been in the same camps and why the troops would have been so fixated on escaping given that they were relatively safe inside the camp.  
He corrected the myth about it being the sworn duty to try to escape; explaining that it was only a duty to try anything to evade capture and explained about how some of the Red Cross parcel items were specifically made so as to assist escape – such as playing cards with secret peel off sections to display maps, or handkerchiefs that once pissed on did the same.  
Robin enjoyed his animation and knowledge….it was like being curled up next to a cuddly professor!

During the section where Ives takes his own life Robin’s hand shot out and connected with, what she realised too late was his partial limb, and she felt the muscle stiffen beneath her squeezing hand.  
Strike obviously noticed the connection, but was more mesmerised by the clear tears forming at Robin’s eyes as she watched the determination in Steve McQueen’s face to push forwards with the escape plan to ensure the memory of his friend lived on.

“You OK?” he murmured huskily, finding his hand covering her small one and enjoying that her skin was so soft and smooth and yet squeezed his grip back a little.

“Yeah….it’s really quite moving isn’t it….I mean, even though they’re all men…..and to imagine how real men must have felt in that situation….thinking all their efforts had come to nothing!” she sniffed and to Strike’s chagrin used her hand to swipe away her tears, thus breaking their skin contact.

“We’re capable of emotion you know!” he grinned, meeting her gaze and wondering whether it was actually possible for your knees to buckle whilst sat on a bed.   
“OK, I’m adding cheese to the pie; I know it isn’t traditional but I like it!.... and then it’ll be 15 minutes to golden perfection!” and he hauled himself up and across to the kitchen using the ceiling beams and his powerful shoulders.

Robin glanced after him, his pyjama bottoms had that lovely rumpled up, lived in look to them now, and as she stared she realised she was trying to consider whether he was wearing anything beneath them….was she just imagining the…..additional swinging?  
She cleared her throat, crunched on a mini Twix from the tub and announced her intention to use the loo meaning Strike was able to sluice his face with cold water after turning up the heat on the oven.

Robin felt slightly odd using Strike’s bathroom – even though she’d used it occasionally before when they’d been having take out, or once when the ballcock broke downstairs. But today, surrounded by so much of his personal accoutrements it felt slightly different…..and as she rinsed her hands and dried them on the small towel she had the overwhelming urge to bury her nose in it.

Back in the main room Strike had perched himself on the opposite side of his bed, closer to access the oven, but meaning that if Robin wanted to get comfy again she needed to clamber over him, which to his delight she did without any fuss or hesitation.  
“I take it dinner is almost served!” she stated as she hitched herself more comfortable.   
His side of the bed was more rumpled as he’d been using the duvet across his lap, so rather than try to straighten it she simply slid herself into the space he’d occupied and wriggled her bottom up close to the pillows, absently dragging her ruffled hair off her face and making Cormoran wish he could replace her hand with his own.

“Erm…..yeah…..I’ll just check it,” and he hopped back to the oven.  
Robin watched and made a sigh of delight as a waft of steam and the delicious aroma of crispy potatoes and cheese filled the small room.

He efficiently removed the casserole dish, placing it on the hob before switching off the oven and regarding the bubbling pie with a wrinkled frown.  
With his leg off it would be slightly precarious to transfer it to the table together with plates and cutlery….he could make a couple of trips…..he was in the process of considering his options when Robin slid behind him.

“You get the forks, sod the plates, we’ll eat in bed!” she stated, and before he could either argue or compliment her logic she had swiped up the Shepherd’s pie with a couple of tea towels and was walking on her knees across his mattress, tongue between her teeth in concentration with the dish resembling one of the three Kings’ gifts.  
He breathed deeply and whispered the same word he’d uttered as she disappeared inside her hotel room adjacent to his own in Barrow so many, many lifetimes ago now.  
This was perfect.  
She was perfect.


	4. You've got a deal!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike are so comfy and perfect together.....and after the film Robin doesn't really want to leave.  
> Cormoran is honest in telling her what he wants.....and a deal is struck!

“Well…..come on…I’m not using my fingers!” she grumbled, glaring at him with a pout on her smiling lips.  
He gave a mock salute, forgetting he was holding a couple of forks and uttering a muffled “Ow,” as the metal clobbered his temple, causing Robin to snigger as he shook his head at her, “Oh, I’m very glad that my bodily pain amuses you!”

“Are you OK?” she asked, still chuckling as he perched gingerly on the bed with the pie as a buffer between their bodies.

“I’ll live!” he grumbled, rubbing his head and tossing one of the offending forks across to Robin as he delved in and blew on the scalding meat and potato mixture steaming infront of him.  
They ate in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the odd groan of delight, or whispered ‘Bugger’ or ‘Fuck’ when a particularly hot mouthful made contact with a section of soft palate.

After eating what Strike considered a lightweight amount Robin claimed to be full and started up the dvd again, Cormoran enjoyed the sight of her curvaceous backside stretching across to fiddle with the machine and disguised a groan not linked to the Shepherd’s Pie quickly as she shuffled back up the bed beside him.

“I can’t believe it’s only 4 o’clock in the afternoon,” she stated, glancing out of the small, slightly steamed up windows of Strike’s flat showing the darkening winter sky.  
Strike nodded and mumbled through a mouthful of Ilsa’s glorious meal and flicked his empty fork towards the screen in an attempt to convey that a particularly crucial scene was coming up.  
Robin paid attention and enjoyed the tension of the actual escape, the drama of the individual attempts to get away and scatter across the countryside and she gasped at the brutal scene of the mass shooting.  
Cormoran finally stopped eating, leaving a small portion of the potato and meat and discarding the dish and their forks onto the floor beside the bed.

Robin’s face reflected sadness as Blythe was shot down and held in the arms of his unlikely friend, Hendley; and she squealed as Hilts made his attempt to jump the wire, her hand flailing out to slam into the firmness of Strike’s chest as he fell and was recaptured.

“Oh God! It’s quite poignant isn’t it?” she whispered as he was shown marching back into the ‘cooler’.

“It is,” Cormoran added, “Wanna know something even more moving? The German camp commander was so disgusted at his own troops massacring so many of the escapees that he pretty much funded a memorial to them….allowed the prisoners of war tools and materials to create a memorial to their comrades.”

Robin smiled softly, “Wow,” their eyes met in a lingering gaze before she continued, “Well…..I’m pleased to have been part of your tradition….it means a lot to be so…..well, just like this.”

Strike hummed as he nodded, ruefully considering that now the film had ended she had no reason to remain cosily curled beside him on his gloriously rumpled bed.

“I assume they didn’t make a follow up?” she blushed and cleared her throat, and he twitched his eyebrow, wondering, not for the first time, whether she could actually read his thoughts.

“Sadly no……and thankfully they have never done a ridiculous modern remake of it!”

Robin smiled and allowed her body to loll back into the comfortably crushed up pillows.  
“That’s a shame…..I’m very comfy!” she stretched her arms up above her head, and Strike bit his lower lip as a sliver of creamy skin appeared between the waistband of her pyjama trousers and her top.

“Well, we could have a look at proper telly……there’s bound to be something on,” and he reached across her slender body to pick up the remote control from it’s position on the cabinet beside her.  
He didn’t know whether he’d inhaled purposefully, but his nostrils had become filled with the delectable aroma of her shampoo.  
He focussed his attention on the TV screen and tried to make his body behave, although the practically positioned tub of chocolates was currently disguising his desire…..to some extent!

Robin glanced across as Cormoran flicked the remote, searching through channels.   
They made mutual noises of ‘nah’, ‘maybe’ and ‘not bad’ as programmes flashed up and moved on.  
Just as both were about to give up hope of finding a mutually enjoyable programme the familiar opening credits to The Good Life fluttered onto the screen.

“Oh! Is it the Christmas one…..I LOVE this one!” Robin stated, excitedly.

Strike clicked the information button and grinned as she squealed, “Yup…..I take it this is a winner?”

“Yes!.....it’s OK isn’t it? You wouldn’t rather I go?” she asked, finding that his eyes had softened as they met hers.

She noticed a visible bob to his Adam’s Apple, but also that he didn’t tear his gaze away from her own.

“Honestly?.....I’d rather you stayed forever,” he murmured huskily, pressing his lips together as if to prevent them betraying more of his emotions.

Robin felt a strange, almost fizzing sensation start way down in her stomach, which crept up her body and arrived at her lips as a tingling, tongue flicking curl.

“How about I stay for this programme and we review it then?”

“Programme…… plus breakfast!” Strike casually stated, focussing on the screen but twitching his lips as Robin’s mouth fell open beside him.

“Er…..programme….plus…..a kiss,” she suggested, instantly catching onto Strike’s bargaining tactic and grinning at the realisation that Cormoran had finally admitted that he might have more than a professional interest in her, as she did in him.

He countered immediately, still steadfastly ignoring her gaze and watching the TV screen as Margot Leadbetter argued with a delivery man over the height of a Christmas tree.

“Programme plus a bit of a roll about under the covers, plus…..another glass of wine.”

Robin stifled a bashful giggle, “Programme, plus a snog…..a decent, proper snog!”

Strike wrinkled his lips and tilted his neck fractionally to face Robin’s glowing, pink cheeks, “Programme, plus full, decent snog….plus a cup of tea?”

“Deal!” and Robin leaned in to claim the first of what she hoped would be millions of knee trembling kisses from the large, wonderful man beside her.  
Strike however calmly pushed her back, nestling her tightly next to his body with and arm firmly around her shoulders, “Programme first!” he quipped, grinning smugly at her pouting huff.

After pretending to be focussed on the amusing antics of Tom, Barbara, Jerry and Margot Strike caved first.  
He leaned back fractionally so that he could twist and look at Robin, tilting her chin with his fingers to make her eyes meet his, “You know that basically the balloon’s stuck on Barbaras's head with an elastic band?”

“Yeah….and they buy them a cow,” Robin nodded, managing to speak more calmly than she felt.

“So……maybe we could just skip to the second part of that deal?”

They were both smiling as their lips finally met in what started as the most gentle, tender exploration of each other’s mouths.  
Cormoran tasted of beer, and warmth, and chocolate, and when he parted Robin’s lips, inviting her to slide her tongue against his he realised she tasted so similar, and perfect, it was actually almost painful to realise that they’d wasted so much time without doing this.

As their kiss deepened her hands trailed through his hair; he guided her neck to fall to one side, allowing him to taste her desperation as he dragged her languid, gloriously soft body across his lap.  
The presence of his arousal beneath his pyjamas was not lost on her, and the heat fusing their hips together was erotically powerful.

Both of her palms pulled his face back, his tongue licking out to tease her thumbs and ensure they were still tasting each other’s skin.  
“Can I renege on that deal we made?” she whispered, groaning along with Cormoran as she wriggled her lower back at the sensation of his mouth sucking on her neck.

“What’s the new plan then?” he asked, swearing throatily as Robin trailed her tongue along his earlobe and made a breathy pant into his ear which made his spine collapse.

“What was your first idea?” she asked, and promptly stripped her pyjama top deftly over her head.  
“Have we got a deal?” she asked; his darkly dilated eyes became slightly glassy and unfocussed as she reached back and toyed with her bra strap, his own hands moving to take control and unhook the garment.

“Can we change it to brunch instead of breakfast?” and he became unable to speak for a while as his mouth was more pleasurably occupied.


End file.
